


Issues

by PolarKraken



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Buttsex, Fingering, Humiliation, M/M, Manhandling, PWP, hurt/comfort-ish I guess, with a bit of introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 09:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20328628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarKraken/pseuds/PolarKraken
Summary: I found Family Duty by rhiannonhero, which was actually the first Venture Bros. smutfic I've ever read years ago and they were kind enough to let me rewrite it from Rusty's POV. It's longer for the mere fact that Rusty is simply more wordy than good ol' Brock.I'll spare you the self deprication and let you decide if you like it or not. I hope I did the fantastic original justice!





	Issues

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Family Duty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/159249) by [rhiannonhero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonhero/pseuds/rhiannonhero). 

Nobody ever asked me if I wanted this life I’m living. It’s hectic, it’s dangerous and sure as hell not fulfilling. What with this empire I got thrown into, with the sudden responsibility for something I was never cut out for and never wanted in the first place? Add to that two manic sons, constant looming danger, and a million failed projects and you basically have my every-day-routine. 

It’s not that I’m not _brilliant_, I mean, of course I am. It’s just that even the brightest minds can be dimmed by certain lifestyles. There’s a lot of baggage which comes with sharing the name and title with my dad, but there’s no time to examine this. Must keep working. Must hold everything together somehow. 

Pills help. Since I dropped out of college and got handed over the papers for Venture Industries. First prescribed, then obtained illegally. It did have its perks to be famous after all. They can only do so much however and when everything gets especially grating, there is not much else which can take the edge off.

With being famous comes being threatened and with that there comes protection. Myra ended up being a threat herself, as much fun as she was to be around for some time. Doesn’t exactly help my trust issues. Certainly not the first time someone close to me tried to harm me and only just failed. 

O.S.I. didn’t leave me alone for long after she got escorted off the compound. In comes Brock, this dude who punched a molar out of my mouth in college, who I only ever heard grunting while he had copious sex with copious amounts of women for most of the semester we shared a bunk with each other. The same dude who was the one who told me my dad died. He was now here, on my property, assigned to protect me. Funny that.

Things developed pretty quickly, from being a purely work related relationship to something else. I’m not sure what this is we have going on, but it’s definitely more than a protection assignment. We’ve become a weirdly dysfunctional family, even if the things Brock does to me kind of put me in the role of the wife. I avoid mentioning it, talking about it or, heaven forbid, _asking_ for it, but for all the years he is looking after me now, he learned when things became serious. 

I’m aware of the pattern; It’s not that I don’t know my own quirks, it’s just that I get lost in the moment, in the anxiety and don’t really think about anything else or how to alleviate the stress. I just get caught up in details and everything irritates me and it’s getting worse and worse until Brock steps in and does his _thing_. 

I’ve yelled at the boys almost constantly for the past couple of weeks and they’re avoiding me right now. It’s all well and good, considering that money is getting tight once again and my five and a half projects I have running require my utmost concentration. With almost audible whirring in my head I’m going through my checklists, ignoring the quiet voice in the back of my mind telling me that harvesting an orphan’s soul is really _messed up_, but one has to make sacrifices to excel. 

Outdated technology, coupled with months of built up frustration make my hands shake and head hurt while I’m trying to work in my lab. Oxygen rich atmosphere to keep the extractor running properly. It also helps me think. However, smelling one of Brock’s dirty cigarettes does the opposite.  
He KNOWS that he isn’t allowed to smoke in here, I told him a million times so I turn around, yell at him for the million and first time, make sure he knows in how much danger he puts us and he just apologizes and throws his cancer stick on the floor. I’m about to complain that he should clean that up, but deciding to revert my attention back. 

To no avail.

The computer glitches, I hear something electric fizzling, some gauge is probably getting loose as I type and I can hear myself muttering endlessly without even registering what I’m saying and then suddenly Brock’s presence is there, right behind me. He tells me I need a break and that makes me even angrier. I’m starting to rant at him, tell him exactly why there is no time for me to take a break, but it’s like I’m talking to a wall. Only that this wall has arms as big as my whole body, which easily grab me, shut me up and drag me to his bedroom.

I try my best to defend my dignity, not that there's a whole lot to be found in the first place, but as always Brock handles me like a puppet. I seriously don't have time for what he is planning to do and I make sure to let him know, but he is as stoic as always. It would be a lie if I admitted that his dead pan, detached, methodical approach isn't doing things to me, though. I never have time to wonder what that says about me, as my anxiety desperately focusses on his impossibly sturdy grip. It’s like I’m getting pulled by C-clamps.

Brock's huge, rough hands rip my trousers off and I can't suppress a yelp. In a misdirected leap of panic, I pull my polo shirt down, trying to hide my very premature erection. I would start cursing my body internally, betraying me like that, giving away my needs, but Brock doesn't give me any time for negative introspection. 

My whole world turns upside down and I suddenly find myself on my stomach. This certainly gives my anxiety enough to latch on to, the panic like a restless gargoyle wreaking havoc in my brain. It's all so much worse when I can't see what this brute is up to. I make sure to let him know how horrible he is, but all of my insults slide off him and he doesn't let up, no matter how much I struggle. 

It's all part of the choreography, the battle we always perform when Brock decides it's time again. Not that this is a very fair battle, considering… well everything. We still both do it, each and every time. Usually, when _normal_ people are about to have sex, they flirt, they kiss, they rile each other up. We fight. He holds me down effortlessly, doesn’t let me self-sabotage no matter what, I complain to make sure to not be too obvious. Too needy. 

There's no way I would ever admit that it's one of the few things in my life I look forward to. Yes, it's degrading, humiliating and leaves my body sore for days afterwards and _yes_, these reasons just add to the appeal of the whole arrangement. It's not love, I'm aware of that. There are no playful gentle touches, whispers of sweet nothings, let alone kisses or anything of that sort. It's all very precise, calculated, efficient; just like everything Brock does. 

Nevertheless, skin hunger is a thing and I'm practically starved for physical closeness at this point, but there's still that part of me which needs a bit more convincing when it came to the more hands on things. I knew they were coming; with the way Brock pulls my hips closer each time I halfheartedly try to escape his grip. It's not like I don't have my homosexual experiences, but nothing I did could prepare me for Brock and his sheer might, precision and size. 

With my face pressed into the cushion, dislodging my glasses and blurring my vision, I feel his heat against my bare skin. It's so primal and fierce and we haven't even properly started yet. God, I feel so exposed. I know there's nothing left to the imagination with my ass in the air and I'm blushing into the pillow while one of Brock's hands vanishes. I know what that means, I know what is coming and despite my nerves being primed for contact, his thick, lubed up fingers suddenly pushing against me, slipping _inside_ me, still make me shiver. 

I vocalize my frustration, spit out his name in disdain, call him horrible names, try to pull away, but his free hand presses against my neck and I'm trapped. I'm used to feeling trapped, but not many people could make me feel this way with just their hands. 

It’s been a while, several months, and ooh man, can I feel it. My body isn’t used to any of this, the intrusion, the _movement_ so deep inside me. Crunching up my bedsheets in my fists, I do my best to protest more, to make sure he knows it’s totally not something I enjoy for some fucked up reason. It hurts a bit, but that’s my own fault really. I’m not letting myself go yet, can’t just lose so quickly, not even to him. Brock’s fingers are impossibly thick and they alone feel like they are stretching everything to its limit. I’m not the youngest anymore and definitely not supple enough to just take it in the ass like that. He is pretty careful, despite everything, I can tell. He’s not rushing, the movements are slow and steady and I feel the initial pain ease off to a mere discomfort. This doesn’t stop me from complaining, but the moans which slip up here and there may give away my true feelings slowly and surely. 

I yell out when I feel him spread his fingers, freaking _scissoring_ them, pushing against parts of me which should never be touched but now get so much attention. I manage to hold back from rolling my hips slightly when he finally finds my prostate, this little cherry on top of this fucked up sundae. Could also just be the fact that I literally can’t move while getting pinned down in more than one way. 

When Brock has reduced to me a shivery, moaning mess of a man, I feel his fingers slipping out in way too graphic detail. I hate how sensitive I am or how sensitive he makes me. I’m breathless, making undignified noises into the pillow under me, while I wait for the next phase. I don’t dare to move, can’t wait any longer. I know I need this, he knows I need this, so we’re going ahead, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Just a super scientist letting his bodyguard stick his ridiculously enormous cock inside him. No big fucking deal. 

I hear obscene squelching noises and can only imagine where these originate from. I’m already hyperventilating while Brock’s stupid, big, capable, rough hands pull my hips into position. He finally knocks the last bit of air out of me and I can’t move and then there’s the slick pressure, so familiar and yet so foreign, unnatural and yet so damn _right_ and when he breaches me all I can do is scream.

My eyes begin to water at last, blurring my vision completely; each and every muscle stiffens while he’s slowly entering me. It feels overwhelming, painful, my shoulders pulled up to my ears while tears and drool soak the cushion under me. He rocks almost gently, but not lovingly, trying to get in deeper and I hear him say something but don’t quite register what. The mere sound of his deep baritone already has an effect on me though and in my haze I somehow find my breath again and the ability to control at least some of my muscles. He talks again, this time moving his grip, his blunt fingernails caressing over the hot skin of my back and I sigh and whimper. I feel pathetic and I’m loving it. One can’t sink any lower than getting rammed by a cock the size of their lower arm and the owner of that cock being so freaking _considerate_ to relax them. 

He’s just too precious, this Brock, huh? Always looking out for me, even while he inches his dick into me more and more. The cramping of my insides is slowly subsiding, as always. My body is responding well to his treatment. 

The heavy shaft inside my ass feels hot and weirdly tingly, the muscles back there stretched to capacity for sure. He’s still gently rocking and I kind of wish he’d hurry up and do it properly already. The last thing I need is gentleness; this would just make it too real, too intimate. 

Lucky for me, Brock is far from the tender type, as he is showcasing now by manhandling me again, shoving my legs apart, gripping me and then my world spins once more and I’m suddenly upright. I don’t have time to get flustered due to my face not being hidden anymore. His palms cut into my thighs while they support my weight which he agonizingly, torturously, painfully slowly lowers down until his whole impossible length somehow is inside me. I feel my butt touching his lap, snugly fitting against it, but not as snug as the penis inside of me, practically pulsing against my inner walls. 

He tells me to relax again and I notice that I indeed tensed up all over once more. Without any protest I’m giving in, too far gone to care anymore. I know Brock can handle it so I let myself go slack against him and he holds me in position. The steady pressure inside me suddenly moves and my eyes shoot open while any and all thoughts get fucked right out of me. He’s still holding back, but not by much anymore. He’s driving into me with so much force and speed, the muscles inside me practically sucking him in each time he pulls out and it’s embarrassing as all hell. Do I care much at this point? No, I just lean my head back against his chest, gasp and moan with no shame and I faintly feel him grabbing my glasses to toss them out of the danger zone. Getting fucked by Brock Samson means business. 

I would keen against the intrusion which is luckily not possible in our position, which only allows me to let the beast that is Brock devour me. I shudder and try to speak when I hear strange noises, Brock talking, different voices, feel his dick getting a little soft and through my blurry vision I can deduce that the boys walked in on us. If I had any say in that matter I’d make him stop but he just fucks me faster, making me lose any composure necessary to intervene. I can just lean against him, mouth agape for endless moans and stutters and finally his voice is booming incredibly loudly right next to me and I can hear a door slam shut. 

This whole ordeal ruined the mood a bit, but Brock seemed to recover quite quickly, if the pace he’s keeping is any indication. My insides feel like liquid, as if my whole lower abdomen has turned into lava, each and every nerve firing, lighting up my already overstimulated brain. I lick salty sweat from my lips, inhale Brock’s musk with a deep shudder, my eyes turning around to at least get an impression on how his face looks like but I’m not able to focus properly, even though he’s holding me almost perfectly still while he let his hips push his cock into me over and over. He’s using brutal force, precise snaps of his hips, keeping up the quick pace, assaulting my insides, occasionally scraping past my prostate. I’m losing my mind, it’s getting too much and I still want more. 

I feel his burning hot palm circle my dick and I protest in the only way possible for me, with undignified squirming and moans of objection. I sigh in relief when he lets up from me again and then can only yell out his name when he lifts me up, the dick inside me almost slipping out, just to slam me back down to the hilt. The back of my head is resting on his broad shoulder and I can feel his muscles rippling under me while he keeps the motion up, making me bounce up and down on his dick as if I’m nothing but a cheap sex toy. The knot inside of me, this bundle of anxiety, nervousness and self-hate finally implodes while I let this man invade my body endlessly, ruining me in the best way possible. I do my best to show him what a good job he’s doing and all these efforts just end up in me trembling and moaning his name in a nonsensical stream. 

It’s good to get your brain fucked out once in a while, if it got so heavy like mine tended to get. Right now the only thing feeling heavy was my achingly hard cock, which was getting the attention it needed to make Brock finish up. I’m ready now, no going back, all my attention is zoomed into the sensations my bodyguard is providing for me. The dilation of my body, the pressure on my dick, the pumping motion in perfect synch with his fucking and that’s it, I’m tipping over the edge. My voice is so loud, it’s even startling me a bit while I feel him fucking me through my orgasm, involuntary muscle spasms embarrassingly milking his dick, while I dirty his hand with my own ejaculate. 

I feel boneless, fucked to death basically and I only faintly feel what happens after all that. He definitely pulls out, I notice that and then my body gets lifted and I mumble while I feel his heat engulfing me from all sides. I know he’s tucking me in and I slowly return to the land of the living briefly. 

“Brock, what would I do without you?”

I ask, my voice rough and sluggish, genuinely in awe and I don’t hear his answer and don’t have to. My consciousness sinks into deep slumber, so very different from the usual chaotic mess that were my nightmares and I know he’s right when he says I’d be dead without him. 

He did it again and I sigh, almost happily. Let my worries be worries tomorrow, right now there’s nothing but darkness in my mind and comfortable agony all throughout my body.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter under [@GenteiJanken](https://twitter.com/GenteiJanken)!


End file.
